Who Am I?
by BubblyxDucky
Summary: Canada hates how Arthur forgets him. M; for mentions of sex?


I got the idea for this while listening to 'Monster' By Meg and Dia. Why it made me think of this pairing? I have no clue. Oh well. I honestly love this Kink!Pair. Although; USUK still wins.

x x x

"Who are you...?"

"I'm... Canada..."

That phrase was something the Canadian male hated. It wasn't as if it was just once. It was all the time. With _everyone_.

Of course the Canadian knew he wasn't much of a nation in the first place. Constantly forgotten. Invisible. Even his own brother, couldn't for the life of him remember who he was. Of course – there where times. If someone (specifically his 'family') happened to notice he was in the room, 'Papa' would always point out he inherited his, 'French hair'. Alfred, would comment on how much less heroic Matthew was; and his little bear would still repeat that, 'Who are you?' - unless he remembered. Then it was, 'Where are pancakes?'. Everyone spoke, when he was noticed. They all remembered at least one thing, about the Canadian. Except for one. The one who should have never forgotten who he was.

Arthur Kirkland. England. The man who stole him away from his Papa, and raised him. Why did this man forget him? The Canadian never knew. It made his stomach sick each time he thought of it. Now, England had no problems remembering the 'bad' child of the family. America, was his pride and joy. Even if he did abandon him, and leave. But... Matthew never did. Oh no. He stayed by his father's side, and even went as far as to turn against his brother to help. Even after being given his independence – Canada still made sure that the British influences hung heavy in his country.

The good child. Why was he always forgotten? All those nights the British man would be up crying, no one else was by his side. Canada was. Canada always was. He'd never leave England. Ever. It was surprising, to say the least. That after all he'd been put through, the Canadian stood loyal to him. He'd remembered the worst day of his life, was caused by that man. Of course, It wasn't his fault, The Canadian tried to convince himself. It's when he gave up everything he had left.

The first time Arthur touched him in a way he never had before, was right after America became independent. That night, in a drunken haze, the man crawled in bed next to him. He needed comfort. The Canadian obliviously agreed. Of course, he didn't expect when the man touched him in certain areas. He cried, oh so hard. But... not because of that. Simply because he uttered soft, sweet words.

"Oh, Alfred, I love you..."

"I-I'm not Alfred...!"

Of course it didn't matter. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself, for that night – He was no longer Canada. No longer Matthew. He became the person he hated most in life. Alfred F. Jones. And for a moment; Just a moment – he was okay with that. As long as he was noticed. As long as he was looked at. He could be Alfred. Just for him.

So... Why was he forgotten? He didn't know. All he knew – was right now. He was frightened. A most interesting situation, to say the least. Standing in a drunken mess in his doorway, was the man who always forgotten him. Eyes where red from crying, and his face was flushed – obviously from a drunken stupor.

Canada did what he always did. He comforted him in the way the Englishman needed it most.

It wasn't long until the Canadian found himself in a limb-tangled mess with the so called, 'Gentleman'. The drunken figure hovering above him; thrusting into his body like it was some sort of toy. A tear-stained face, the Canadian simply laid there, waiting for it to be over. It wasn't as if he didn't like the man. Quite the opposite. He loved him. Always had. And even if it was some sick twisted way – Canada was being noticed. Even if it was so he could be used for a night of mindless sex. Canada was needed.

He'd put on his best 'good boy' act. Moaning out and coaxing the older man, telling him how good it felt. In all honesty, it hurt. Far too much to fathom. He'd never let the other know. His mind and body begged the Brit to stop, but he couldn't sum up the words to tell him. Not like it would do any good. England was an ex-pirate, after all. He knew how to get what he wanted. Canada wouldn't deny him of this.

Of course – his tears where a mix of physical and emotional pain. Even if the needy Brit didn't notice, Canada couldn't help it. He blocked all noise the other was making, trying to forget the soft cries of a name. _His_ name. Canada sobbed. He could deal with being used. He could deal with being forgotten. 'Just please. _Please_. Don't call me that. Don't pretend your not with me.' The Canadian whimpered. "W-Who am I...?" He asked.

The Canada almost laughed when the other release inside of him. The sharp cry of, "A-Alfred!" And he knew the gentleman was finished with him for the night.

Mornings where his favorite. When the Englishman awoke, there was always pancakes on the table, served with tea. Specially for him. A pounding headache and a guilty conscience, The Brit never uttered a word to him about what happened. Ever. It was almost as if where a nightmare, to the Canadian. A terrible nightmare. But Matthew knew. He always knew, Arthur knew what happened. The way he averted his gaze, and the way he made sure not to say his name. It made Canada sick. Before his departure, Arthur always gave him a pitiful smile. He'd mumbled out a soft, "Forgive me, Matthew." And he'd leave.

Those – where the Canadian's favorite words.

It made everything worth it.

Of course Canada knew the British man would return sometime soon. After all, it was nearing the 4th of July. Canada would wait, like his father's 'good little boy'. And when that happened, he would become Alfred for the night. A night of blissful, painful purpose. For now though -

He was Matthew Williams.

A useless, un-needed nation; who no one remembered.

He'd just play this game of 'pretend' until Arthur began to care.

Maybe then, someone would finally, remember who he was.

Until then – Canada sat. A Broken, tear-stained boy. Looking into the mirror with a sob, he uttered out,

"Who am I...?"

There was no reply.


End file.
